Corrupt You
by SomberSerenity
Summary: Trigger Warning: Musings on sexual assault/rape. Sylar's thoughts on Claire throughout the series. A look at the darker side of things. Inspired by the song Corrupt by Depeche Mode.


How easy it would be to break her.

She was so self-righteous, so convinced that she had overcome every obstacle the world threw in her way and come out stronger, a better person, untouched and untainted by the evils she'd faced. She was content to live a 'normal' life, surrounded by people who could never even hope to understand her, her abilities, who she was under the persona she'd so carefully perfected.

It was both utterly fascinating and extremely annoying. How much hypocrisy could one mind hold, he wondered, before it simply ceased to function? How long could she keep up the façade she'd worked so hard to maintain, running back to the safety of school and her father? Even Noah Bennet would eventually die, leaving her alone within the walls she'd so carefully constructed, a deterrent to anyone who'd find anything worthwhile inside of her.

She would fall apart soon enough, he knew; when everyone around her had turned back into dust, when the world closed itself off just as much as she did, when she found that even suicide, the sweet release promised by an insignificant amount of pain, couldn't save her from the hell she had created. That day would come soon enough, and Sylar was more than content to wait for it. After all, he'd still be around to watch her suffer, left as alone and abandoned as he'd been for years.

He wondered if she'd still think herself perfect then.

X-X-X-X

Adopted, orphaned, and misunderstood; raised by a father who would rather slather his hands in the blood of others instead of using them to comfort his own child. Immortal.

How was it that two people who shared so many similarities had turned out so differently?

Claire had always believed herself to be better than him, Sylar knew. She held herself to higher standards, content in the knowledge that her mind remained untouched and pure, even as her body was battered and broken time and time again. It had been so hard to resist twisting his hands into her brain, severing any and all connections he could find, watching the blood drip onto his hands and fall towards the floor, knowing that even perfection could be marred by something less. He wanted to bring her down to his level, discontent to let time do the work for him. He wanted to see the look on her pretty face when she realized that she was no different from him, underneath it all. He wanted to see her world shatter into pieces, and he wanted to be the one who held the hammer.

It would have been so easy to leave her there, lying prone on the table, her every thought and synapse exposed to the world that she tried so hard to blend into. He wanted to see the way her family would react, seeing their perfect little princess broken, unsafe even in the confines of her own home. He wanted her to feel scared, to wonder every moment of her life if he was near, watching, waiting for her to slip up and give enough room for him to slip inside her mind for good.

He had run his finger lightly over her mind, feeling a small thrill at the way she twitched, the way her wide eyes remained trained on the ceiling, even then pretending to be elsewhere. He wondered how much it would take to bring her back to the present. Would another touch do it? He pressed his finger down harder, a smirk tugging on his lips as he heard the breath catch in her throat, fear holding her breath. The feeling gave him an almost sexual release, this complete and utter power over another person's being. He left her in that same state, shivering and broken in her own home, tasting her fear on his tongue and relishing the taste.

He knew that his presence had damaged her, even if she still clung tenaciously to her ideals. She'd managed to convince herself that hunting down Level 5 escapees was her duty, her righteous head held high even as she followed in her father's footsteps. Even once she was trapped, helpless and separated from her parents, she refused to simply pull the trigger on Angela, evading nearly every trap he set for her. She was sure that her monster had been vanquished that night, holding herself above him even after his 'death'.

How wrong she was.

X-X-X-X

Finding himself a puppeteer brought nearly no satisfaction. Forcing her to bend to his will eliminated the challenge, enforced his will on hers instead of allowing hers to twist to meet his own. He knew that if she saw the truth through his own eyes, it wouldn't break her, not nearly as much as having it presented to her with clean hands and her own eyes.

It nearly sickened him to have to go to this girl for help. The fact that she was still living in denial both amused him and added to this sickness, along with a new drive to show her just how pathetic and wrong she was. When he kissed her, he knew that their feelings, their drives, were exactly the same, and with this realization came anger. How was it that she could act so different from him, even if it was a lie?

She looked so perfect, lying prone and helpless on the couch, her lips pressed together tightly against his assault. Even as he was overwhelmed by her emotions, he found that his own were still present enough for him to enjoy this fear, this pain that she was emitting. He gripped a fistful of her hair, willing his own emotions to flow back into her, for her to feel his rage, pain, hatred, and isolation, for her to understand that they were simply two sides of the same coin, flipped into the air at the same time, by the same person, simply landing on different sides. She could have been him, and he her; it was simply the cruel irony of fate that had placed them in their respective positions.

He could shift hers.

He could corrupt her, body and mind. He willed the hunger into her own body, willed her to feel the same passion, the drive to kill, to feel the blood on her soft skin, to _understand _that it was barely a conscious choice. It was how he breathed, how he lived; it was how he survived, just as she survived by pretending that the truth was a lie.

He forced her lips open with his own, molding her body to his, fitting them together perfectly. It was almost too easy to press her down, to steal her breath and then force it back inside her, corrupted by his touch, his mind. Simply cutting open her head had scarred her deeply enough to change her path, to send her careening towards self-destruction and hatred. How much more could he do by corrupting her body, taking away her pristine image and leaving her with only pieces to collect? How much more damage could he do by taking the most important piece with him?

It would be the last straw, he knew. She clung tenaciously to that slab of virtue, that belief in her superiority over him simply because of circumstances. If he took away the last piece of her innocence, she would truly break. The satisfaction it would bring was immeasurable, and he knew that she would finally realize that they'd been standing on the same level all along, that it was only her own arrogance that kept her a step higher.

It was only after time and with a conscious effort that he pulled away from her, feeling the ignorance and arrogance of her mind slide slowly into place, completing his own. No, the satisfaction would come when she came to this realization on her own. And she would come to it, he assured himself. Someday, when she was left alone in the hell she had created, she would realize that they truly were kindred spirits, destined to wander the earth long after everyone they cared for had died.

And so he would wait. After all, she had given him forever.


End file.
